When she was Nancy Bates she did not talk like this, nor eat Bath-buns out of paper bags. The fact of being Mrs. Arthur Curtis, with a fine gentleman, an unmistakeable “swell” for a husband, became again an exhilarating consciousness, and turned Nancy’s head a little as soon as she had got to England again; and how could she show her satisfaction so well as by that demonstrative indulgence of personal tastes, and ostentation of personal satisfaction which is the essence of vulgarity, yet may be the mere froth of ignorance and light-hearted confidence? All this was sufficiently trying to Arthur, especially when strangers heard these patriotic outbursts, and showed by their smiles, as they passed, their appreciation of her simplicity. But when they got to Underhayes station, where Mrs. Bates, Matilda, and Sarah Jane stood on the platform waiting, Arthur’s heart sank in his bosom. Why? If Nancy’s mother had been a duchess, she could not have done anything different. But Mrs. Bates, with her brown front, and the flowers in her bonnet, and Sarah Jane in the latest fashion, were too much for poor Arthur. He busied himself about the luggage, and wondered how it was, for all so many times as he had seen them before, that he had never seen them until now? And this was how he was to be surrounded for the rest of his life! Visions of his mother and Lucy came gliding before him as he saw Nancy’s boxes, so much larger and heavier now than when they went away, lifted out--his own people! with their light steps, their soft voices, the tender delight in their eyes. Mrs. Bates was probably as fond of her child as Lady Curtis was of Arthur; that she should show that fondness so differently was not her fault, but that of Providence which had settled her lot in life. He tried to say to himself that this was so, but it was hard. On the whole, the best thing was to look after the boxes until those welcomes and embraces were over, which all the town seemed to have come out to see. Some of Mr. Eagles’ “men” were among the passengers by the train. Arthur shrank among the luggage altogether to escape from their eyes. “Where is Arthur?” said Mrs. Bates. “I hope Arthur knows that you’re not going to be allowed to go off to an inn the first day you come back. To be sure, it’s tea, not dinner, as I suppose you’ve been accustomed to; but tea, with a nice roast chicken and sausages, which is as good as a dinner every day; and it’s all ready and waiting. Arthur! How long he is about the boxes to be sure. Shall we leave him to send them down to the ‘Dragon,’ and you come along, my Nancy, with me?” “Arthur! Arthur!” cried Sarah Jane at the top of her voice, rushing towards him, “mother’s gone on with Nancy, and I’m to wait for you. You needn’t be so particular about the boxes, the porter will take them safe enough. And come along, do come along! Nancy’s gone on before with mother, and I’m quite hungry for my tea.”